Beauty is in the Eye of the Beholder
by Elizabeth Arian
Summary: A brief Fic from a lady's point of view


_Just a short little bit of fluffiness to keep you entertained : ) I'm in an emotional mood today so I apologise for the shameless sentimentality…please please review thanks awfully : ) Music97 x_

_**Beauty is in the Eye of the Beholder.**_

I had been told many times I was not beautiful, by my mother, by friends. It did not matter too much to me. Looks were not as important to me as to some. I could do other things, things of which I was proud but which did not seem great to society. My parents would often berate me for my habits and pursuits. Suggesting instead that I focus my mind on more important matters. The refinement of my voice and manners, My looks. Focus primarily on marriage. But I was not interested in marriage, men as a whole did not interest me, they were as shallow and as vain as the women they pretended to loathe. I had no interest in any of them. So I travelled, I left America and travelled to Europe, hoping to find some solace there, some cure for my wounded spirit. As it was I found hate and jealousy, I have never felt as utterly alone as I did in Europe, so different and outcast not just from my sex, but from my species. I was poor and poverty makes one desperate, I did desperate things, of which I am not proud but had no choice.

It was during one of these dark moments in my life that I met him, the man who was to destroy me and save me in one meeting. A king, worthy of my intelligence and the only one to ever appreciate my looks. I worshipped him, even as I write the words tears form in my eyes. I worshipped the very ground he walked on and he betrayed me. I used to watch him from afar, taking in every line of his body, every movement, every quirk and I loved him. Even before we spoke I knew I loved him. Gradually he made me his own and I have never been happier. I thought I had found the man I would spend my life with. But life was cruel and he did not love me as I loved him, I was not fit to be a Queen. I could see the end coming even before he did, saw the disapproving eyes and the promise of someone else become so irresistible to him that I became an inconvenience. So I again moved on, I travelled once more across the sea to the eternal city of London. I was so tired of running. But he could not leave me be, I had taken a photograph of us both as token of memories long gone and of feelings I was sure I would never feel again. He saw it as a sign of blackmail, that I would use it against him – I could never hurt him. I still loved him. So he employed people to follow me, the majority of which I believed I handled beautifully. Time had made me hard and I could see a false emotion when I saw one. There was one however who was harder to outwit.

He was brilliant and brave and everything the king was not. He followed me with an ease and confidence that I never seen in a man before. As if all of it was a mere show and he could have me anytime he wanted. I believed he could, I became frightened of this man of whom I knew nothing, who was so clever and taunting yet gallant at the same time. I thought if I could trick him he would leave me to get on with my life, such as it was. I employed actors to pose as my fiancée and a priest to perform the ceremony; sure enough he was at the church to witness my 'wedding.' I smile even now as I think of his face when I gave him a sovereign for his trouble. I thought that would be an end to it, that if the king believed me married he would not fear blackmail. But still the pursuit carried on. I saw him often, on street corners, always, always watching me. Sometimes in disguise, sometimes he would not even try to conceal who he was. He watched me with an intensity I have never known. There was fire and ice in his eyes and strength surrounded him. I spoke to him only once. His voice was deep and musical, his body towering over me, giving the feeling that he could crush me with a single word if he so wished. For the first time in my life I became speechless in a man's presence. He smiled as he left me, bowing over my hand saying he had never met a woman of my worth and believed he never would again. I wanted to hold his hand for eternity. I had never felt of much worth to anyone and now there was him, he had said he loved me and I believed him. I had said I loved him and it was true. He had made it clear that he would never marry and I had made it clear that in spite of everything, I was still in love with the king and so we parted. I returned home to America to rebuild my life and he became famous. The man with the penetrating eyes and the musical voice, who had bowed over my hand like a frightened child as he told me he loved me, had grown into the greatest detective to ever live, perhaps the greatest man who would ever be. And I had left him. The sun is setting on the lawn outside and I can see my son asleep on the grass. He is tall like his father and he shares the same gift for music. No one will know of him, know who he is, I will protect him as his father protected me and perhaps one day the world will know the truth. Perhaps one day the son will grow to become the father…one day.


End file.
